The Missing Link
by StolenCompass
Summary: It is said that each and every one is connected by a red thread. All throughout life, people are destined to cross each other's paths. Some are destined to meet once, some never, but some for a life time. Captain Swan. Trigger warning: Character death. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own the show nor the characters. If I did, I'd give you enough Captain Swan to last a life time.

* * *

It was a particularly long day, per se. But no one had it longer than Emma Swan, the Corporate Executive Officer of Storybrooke Agencies. For one, she had to sit in a meeting as people in her board moan and groan and drone about things she already know. To top it all off, everyone seemed to have some excuse for not working through the weekend. They needed the time because it was the holidays and people are travelling, but no one was willing to work for it—and it pissed her off more than ever.

And nobody likes it when Emma Swan is _pissed off_.

To say that the lady boss is cruel is the understatement of the year—the century, even. Most of the people under her command can confirm a time in their lives when they were under her wrath, looking death itself in the face, and they will gladly tell you how unpleasant it was. Although not to her face, she had heard the whispers.

She couldn't have given a longer sigh when she got off work, grateful that the day was over and telling herself that it could have been worse. Entering her pricey condominium unit that costed more from its view of the majestic Boston landscape than whatever it has to offer inside, she turned on the lights, kicked off her monstrously high-heeled shoes and leaned on the wall as she cradled in her arm a paper bag of cupcakes. She sighed again as relieve washed over her feet like waves in the ocean. _At least I've had worse._

She settled on the counter and dumped the paper bag on it, grateful again that nothing worse could ever happen anymore that day. She pulled a cupcake and a blue star-shaped candle from the bag, stuck the candle in the middle of the pastry and lit it up. The tiny source of light illuminated her face in a most comforting way. No one knew it was Ms. Emma Swan's birthday today, but she did not mind. She slumped her crossed arms on the edge of the counter and propped her head on them, staring at the cupcake and said, "Another banner year."

She closed her eyes, silently made a wish, and blew out the candle with a single breath. You only turn twenty-eight once. Despite being alone that particular night, having to spend most of her day doing work, and realizing that she had done nothing special for herself, she smiled because at least, she thought, at least she was still there—fine and untouched.

But she couldn't wish more for her wish to come true. Though, she wouldn't actually count on it. For the past twenty-seven years, she had been wishing the same wish over and over again that if someone above had heard her all those years, they would have died of boredom. Maybe that's why she hasn't been heard.

She hadn't even lifted her eyelids a fraction of an inch when she heard a knock on her door. _What the hell?_

She stood from where she sat and made her way to the door, checking the peephole, but seeing none, she opened the door. At first, she thought someone must be messing with her because there was no one there. But she heard the shuffling of feet and a slight snicker. That was when she looked down and saw this young boy, dark brown hair atop his undeniably adorable face; if she guessed correctly, he must be around ten years old or something. He was smiling at her cheekily as if he knew a secret about her.

"Are you Emma Swan?" he asked, but before she could answer or scowl or even do anything, the kid was speaking again. "I'm Henry, I'm your son."

_Spoke too soon, Emma. Too soon._

But before she can do anything about that, or before she could gather her thoughts, or before she could shoo him away, the kid was letting himself in as if the place was his. But really, she was too dumbfounded to even call him out on this. Instead, she spared him a glance, an excusing-myself glance, and headed to the bathroom in a haste.

She would be lying to herself if she denies herself of the fact that ten years ago, she had given a kid up for adoption thinking that if people knew about this accident she would be screwed. She has a reputation to protect, or rather her family has, and having a child that was conceived beyond her consent, well, that would be good for the records. So she excused herself from school some months later after having discovered that she had a bun in the oven, around the time her belly was starting to get noticeable, and insisted that she work at home.

She didn't think that bun would find her after ten years. She had readily put that phase of life behind her, telling herself that it was for the best. She wasn't ready to have a kid; she was eighteen and reckless and careless that even if her grandmother, Regina, had approved of keeping the child, she wouldn't have had it in her to take care of it.

"Do you have some orange juice—never mind, found it!"

The kid's voice brought her back to reality and she strongly thought to herself that she was having none of this bull crap. She willed herself to exit the bathroom to confront the little kid and once and for all, end this trickery—because she could not have been found! She had sealed her information when she gave the infant up. There is no way.

She found the boy sitting on the chair she had recently abandoned when she had heard the knock on her door. The cupcake was still there, and so was her bottle of orange juice that, as she vividly remembered, had just been sitting inside her refrigerator. She stood and watched as the kid put the bottle down from his mouth (wow, talk about some serious manners) and grinned at her.

"We got to get you home, kid," she said, walking around the counter and fetching the phone on the other table. "How about a number, huh?"

"It's 1-888-NEVER," he replied, turning on his chair. There was a silence in which Emma stared at the kid incredulously. This appeared to be harder than she had imagined, and this kid proved to be more difficult than the average hard-headed boy. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"No," she replied, her tone clipped and annoyed. "Now, give me your parents' phone number or I swear to God I'll call the cops."

"It's… just my dad," he said, a flicker of guilt flashing through his young features. "And I'm sure he's not home."

"Then where is he?" she asked, this time, more irritated than ever. The last thing she needed was a sob story coming from this kid.

"Looking for me," he said, lifting his head and looking at her dead in the eye. There was some kind of emotion in those dark brown orbs of his that Emma was almost sure the kid was desperate to make her believe he was hers.

Emma tilted her head and gave a defeated sigh. "Come on, kid. Why did you come here?"

The kid gave an almost similar sigh before rolling his eyes at her. Apparently, it was his turn to look pissed. "I have a name, it's Henry."

"Okay, Henry," she said, pronouncing his name thoroughly. "Seriously, what are you doing here?"

He looked pleading and, dammit, damn his adorable face because it almost got her. Almost. She still hasn't found a strong reason why this kid was there and it seemed to her as if he's trying to say something to her but wasn't relaying directly—and it's killing her.

"Would you please, please just come home with me?" he pleaded. "Please."

"Home—where?"

"I'll have to show you," he grinned, jumping from his seat to grab her hand and lead her to the parking lot exactly where her yellow bug was parked.

The drive to the small, almost falling apart, apartment building that was their home was surprisingly quiet and fast because, apparently, they don't live that far. She stared at the building from inside her car and scowled. If it looks like anything, she would say it's between a half-burnt building and an almost abandoned one.

She watched as the kid—Henry—sternly told her to stay there until he gets back. He exited the car, ran up the dangerous looking steel staircase, and after less than a minute, his head popped back out from the heavy-looking door with a smile on his face. "Come on, Emma!"

What possessed her to stay rooted to her seat and not bolting as soon as he disappeared behind the door was something she couldn't explain, but as soon as he appeared again, she found herself actually crawling out of her car to meet him.

Henry led her to a swirl of steel staircases and some concrete ones before reaching the third door of the seemingly narrow hallway of the third floor. He opened the door and let her sit on the beaten couch. She surveyed the surroundings and was keen to notice that it was big enough for two people to live in. Another one would just make the whole place feel stuffy. She also noticed that there were no portraits, no pictures, no nothing on the walls as if they had just moved in yesterday. She was snapped out of her thoughts when the kid reappeared from the kitchen to hand her a glass of… of course, orange juice. She uttered a small thank you as the boy sat on the couch directly in front of her. His eyes were trained on her as if waiting for her to take a sip. And take a sip, she tentatively did.

"So, Emma," he said when she set her glass down on the center table. "What do you do for a living?"

Oh, no, no, no, she thought. She was not having some kind of attachment to this kid by relaying information about her personal life because once his father gets home, she would be done with this, with him.

She chose to ignore it, and instead, answered it with another irrelevant question. "When does your father get home?"

"I haven't called him yet," he shrugged.

"Oh come on, kid—

"—Henry!"

Her exclamation was cut off short when the door burst open to reveal a man with a worried look in the bluest eyes she had ever seen. He spoke with an accent that's richly Irish as he ran and dropped to one of his knees in front of the boy, searching his face, his arms, almost every part of the boy's body, seemingly forgetting about the blonde in their midst.

_Why was he checking the boy for injuries? It wasn't like she threw him out a ten-story building window._

"Where have you been, boy?" the frantic father asked. "I was in every corner of Boston looking for you."

She noticed that even with his dilemma, he still kept his voice calm and steady, something parents rarely do with their prodigal children.

"I found my real mom," Henry replied, looking at his hands on his lap. The Irish man searched the boy's face before turning his head to finally give his attention to Emma who was sitting awkwardly whilst the heartfelt scene was unfolding before her. She was quite dumbfounded, to say the least, when she finally got a good look at the man who was kneeling on the floor. Apart from his eyes, everything about him is undeniably beautiful. From his scruff to his hair, everything seemed to contribute to his good-looking face. But he wore this worn-out and tired expression over it that she had to look past them to recognize that he was actually looking at her.

"Hi," she croaked awkwardly.

"I take it you're his biological mother," he stated, rising to his feet to stretch a hand to her. She reluctantly shook it slowly, weighing the options on how to bolt out of there. Unfortunately, the man wasn't keen on letting her hand go; besides, he looks to be contemplating the ways to kill her with that stare he's so keen on giving her.

"Yes, I am," she said, giving him an unsure smile.

"My name is Killian, Killian Jones," he said, giving her a curt nod.

"Emma Swan," she replied.

"_Emma_," he pronounced as if saying the name was somehow alien to him. At the last syllable of her name escaping his lips, she saw a sliver of a smile ghost his lips, lingering, and then staying that way as he held her stare a little while longer. The next thing she knows, he was letting go of her hand, turning to Henry and was sending him to his room, telling him that it was past his bedtime and that they will have a talk about this tomorrow morning.

When the kid was gone after one last long look at Emma, Killian turned to her again and said, "Stay. Let's have a little conversation."

He led her to the kitchen, made her sit on one of the wooden stools on the counter (they don't seem to have a dining table) and served her a bottle of beer from the cupboard above the sink. It wasn't cold so it wasn't that inviting to drink, and because of that, Killian gave her an apologetic look.

"I have to hide them from Henry," he said, settling on the seat across from her. "I'm sorry about… this. I bet you couldn't have imagined this to have happened in a million years."

She took a long swig from her bottle of beer, the lukewarm liquid making its way down her throat. She set the bottle down on the counter with a soft thud and said, "Nope. Not ever. Let me ask you something, why did he come to me? Why now?"

Much to her surprise, the man's eyes lowered and seemed to find interest with the swirling pattern of the wood that is the counter before he answered in a hushed tone.

"He wanted to see you, Emma," he said. "He's… uh, he's dying."

* * *

**AN: **Let me know what you think, beans.


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: **Oh no, I don't own anything. Don't sue!

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO  
****The Windows of the Soul**

"I'm sorry if this has to happen to you," he quietly said, his eyes lifting to meet hers in another locked gaze. It seemed to be his thing, meeting gazes and holding them as long as he could. It's not that it's unpleasant, it's actually surprising. But it wasn't necessary, in her opinion.

However, for someone who holds no emotional attachment to the kid whatsoever, Emma Swan was quite taken aback by the sudden revelation. To her, the child looked perfectly fine. He even made it to her condominium without any guidance. How…?

After a moment of gathering her thoughts and her bearings, she finally met his eyes once more and asked, "What's wrong with him? And how did he know who or where I was?"

She hadn't expected the concern lacing her tone, but Henry was from her own flesh. It was proper, if not necessary, to feel bad about it.

"I can only answer one and a half of those questions," he replied, giving her a humorless chuckle, a laugh only he can understand. He took a long swig from his beer and set it steady on the counter before answering. "His blood tests came back positive with Leukemia… what I understood from the medical jargon was that it was too late," he let out another heartless chuckle, "to save my son."

She sat in silence as she felt a pinch in her heart when she heard the crack in his voice. She would say she understands him, but unfortunately, she doesn't. Not the least. All she understands was the pain of having no one to talk to. That had happened to her countless of times before, and she knows how lonely it could get. "And the half-answer?" she asked gingerly.

"Well," he sighed, leaning against the edge of the counter with both his elbows. He met her eyes again, a different kind of light radiating from those impossibly blue orbs. "For the past few weeks, he'd been asking about his mother—you—but, of course, I could not give him a straight answer because I know nothing of you. It might be because… we just moved here from Maine and he's in a new school. It was 'Bring Your Parents to School' day a few days ago and a lot of kids were asking him questions like, why he didn't look like his dad or where his mom is.

"It never bothered the lad before," he continued after letting out a long exhale. "But, I guess it was bound to happen one way or another."

She looked down on the bottle of beer in her hands, feeling guilty and defensive at the same time.

"I…I can't," she started, but couldn't find a way to word the feelings of guilt, remorse, and repulsion she felt right at that moment.

"Yes," he said, making her look up. "I know, you don't want yourself into any of this mess, I understand." He wore an expression that told her with sincerity that he knows exactly what she's feeling… and she didn't like it. Not one bit. She was used to being the one reading people, not the other way around. This man seemed to have the ability to read her like an open book. "That's why you gave him up in the first place. You…" he looked to be counting in his head, and then looked at her, "…you had him when you were a teenager, unplanned; and you weren't married nor did you marry. It's either you didn't want any connection with the father or it's the other way around."

_Spot on, Swan. He nailed you right in the head._

"How did you do that?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in skepticism.

"No wedding ring, love," he replied, staring at the hand she had wrapped around the beer bottle.

"What makes you believe we weren't married?"

"If you were, you would have kept the kid," he replied without batting an eye.

"What is it that you do again?" she asked again, more annoyed about his uncanny ability than amused.

"I didn't tell you," he said, giving her an overly confident smirk as he took a swig from his half-consumed beer. "I was a Marine…" with her still-questioning eyes, he added, "with a degree in Applied Psychology."

_That's why…_

"Look, Killian," she started, gazing at him under her lashes, "I can't be a mother to him, if that's what he came to me for. I am a busy woman, I can't make time for him. I have other bigger responsibilities to take care of and fitting him into my tight schedule might just be impossible. You understand me, right?"

"I do, lass," he said, nodding with a tight smile on his face. "I promise, you won't ever hear from us again."

She nodded, not really completely trusting the man, but just content with his promise. "But, you know, just to make sure, I'd have my guards on lookout for both of you. No hard feelings. Just in case he tries to visit me in my office."

He raised his brows in utter surprise and amusement, but said nothing in return. She gave him an uncertain look before standing up to leave. The man followed her to the door, politely opening it for her. When she was out of it, she turned to him, her bottom lip between her teeth.

It seemed to him that it took a lot of effort for her to say the next words, but she managed to get it out.

"I'm really sorry, Killian. For everything."

His lips quirked up in an unfairly handsome smile when he looked at her. "Henry's a smart kid, smart for his age, really. He can sweet-talk his way in and out of everything. He would understand… eventually."

"Good bye, then," she said quietly.

"Good bye," he nodded. "And thank you, Miss Swan."

She smiled in return, turning to leave. When she was out of his sight, descending down the noisy metal stairs, he closed the door with a defeated sigh. He did not know how to break it to Henry—there is no painless way.

"So that's it?" he heard a voice from behind him. He turned to look at Henry with apology in his eyes. "She's never coming back again?"

"I'm so sorry, lad," he said, kneeling in front of him and taking his shoulders in his hands. "She's a very busy woman."

"I know," said Henry, nodding. "I heard you two talking—but dad, there has to be a way."

"I don't think so," he said, shaking his head and rising to his feet. "Henry, there are things we cannot change… now, it's way past your bedtime. You should be sleeping. Besides, you have a long story to tell me tomorrow."

The look in the kid's eyes told him that it would indeed be a long story, but something he would readily narrate to him. But something in the boy's eyes told Killian another story, one that's full of hope and determination. Normally, it would give him happiness to know that his son is hopeful about something, but this kind of determination, he knows so well, would just eventually lead to heartbreak.

After tucking him to bed, kissing his forehead, and switching off the lights, he was ready to go out of the boy's room to go to sleep himself, when he heard his boy call for him.

"Dad," and when Killian turned around to face him, he smiled and said, "We can change things. You and I."

* * *

It was another rainy day, Emma thought as she looked outside the glass wall of her office. The rain pelted on the expanse of the transparent glass, the worsening of the weather imminent with the further darkening of the skies.

The phone on her desk rang, taking her out of her reverie. She hit the button and said, "What is it, Ruby?"

"Uhm, we're going out for lunch, Victor and I," she said, uncertainty in her tone. "I thought, maybe you might want to join us."

She could hear a protesting voice besides Ruby's and she could count on her guess that she was not wanted anywhere with them two and it's just Ruby trying to make her feel better. Ruby Lucas, her secretary, had been her only friend ever since becoming the boss. Despite every other employee's complaints, she remained somewhat unfazed by it, and sometimes making fun of other people with her when it was one of those bad days. Today was one of those bad days. She had so much to do with her proposals and business meetings—they never seemed to stop. So she had to work through lunch, not even bothering to bring a sandwich with her.

"Sorry, Ruby," she said, sighing. "I would have to pass. Maybe some other time… when Victor is okay with it."

"Emma…" Ruby started, but was cut off by the lady boss.

"Have fun, you two," she said and then she hung up.

Emma Swan classified this day as one of those days when she just got so intensely into work that she wouldn't even bother eating. It was unhealthy, true, but she always prioritized. She was pacing around her office, trying to relax her mind before diving headfirst into a pile of files, when she heard a knock on her door.

She exhaled, thinking that Ruby was extra insistent today.

"I told you, Ruby, I'm o—

"Who's Ruby?" a little voice asked.

When Emma looked down, she found that she was staring at the same young boy who found her last night. He was grinning at her, holding up a small, drenched up, paper bag. On his other hand was a black umbrella.

"Kid!" she exclaimed, surprised. "What are you doing here? How did you…? Never mind, come in."

"I brought you lunch!" he chimed, too eagerly. He held the paper bag up again for her to see that, despite being wet, it was still intact.

"I can see that," she replied, nodding at him as she closed the door behind her. "But you didn't have to come here. Where's your dad?"

The boy didn't answer. Instead, he rounded her desk, put the files on it in a neat stack along the edge, and made room to put the lunch he prepared. He pulled out a sandwich wrapped in plastic and a paper cup from the bag and placed it neatly on the desk.

"There!" he said, jumping on his heels. "It's turkey sandwich and hot chocolate."

"Kid…" she said, giving him her best warning look. Most of her employees would cower under her stare, this particular one, and just give in. But this kid, he didn't bat an eye, nor did his grin fade. He remained there with an expectant look on his face, as if he would get her just by it.

"Come on, it's lunch time, mom—

"Don't. Call me. Mom," she hissed, taking the necessary steps to reach the boy. It's one thing going there with lunch in a time that she wouldn't want to be disturbed during, but it's another calling her 'mom'. "How did you get past the guards?"

The kid looked like he was about to cry right then; his brows were furrowed and his lips quivered. "I asked the guard for directions, a-and then slipped away. Are you mad at me?"

She exhaled, and then noticed that she was exhaling too much, then inhaled a long breath before shaking her head at the kid. She bit her lip and sat on her chair, unwrapping the sandwich that was for her. "I bet he's probably looking for you, isn't he?"

"Probably," Henry nodded, making himself comfortable on the couch adjacent to the wall. "But I left him directions."

"Uhuh, you probably did," she nodded, trying to contain her smile. What his father said was true; that he indeed is a smart kid. If finding out where she lives wasn't enough evidence, then finding her workplace would be more than enough. Even finding her in the first place was arduous, and he did it by himself… which made Emma all the more curious.

"How did you find me, kid?"

The boy hung his head and gazed at her through his lashes with a coy smile, as if he was hiding an exciting secret. "My dad has this friend who works in the FBI. Really cool guy. His name's Graham—

"—**how**, kid?" she interjected after taking a bite from the sandwich.

He bit his lip to suppress a grin before looking at her directly in the eye. "Did my dad tell you that I can talk myself in and out of everything?"

_Oh…_

"So you talked to this NBI guy and he took the job?" she asked warily.

"He and my dad are really good friends," he replied, nodding. "Grew up in Ireland together as boys. He's like the uncle I never had. He and my fake mom—

_There was ringing. What was ringing? Oh, the phone._

The kid had stopped talking and instead focused on the object ringing on her desk. She quietly put the sandwich on the table and picked it up. The first thing she heard was a sneeze. "E-Emma? Swan?"

_Of course, he left his dad the exact directions. Even my phone number._

"Killian, your son—" when Henry heard his father's name, his head shot up in attention.

"I know," he said, a tremble in his voice. "I-I'm standing outside, across the street. I already tried with the guard, he didn't seem too pleased. Right now, he's standing near the glass wall looking at me. Please tell me Henry's alright."

"Yes, he's fine," she sighed. "I'm sorry about Leroy. He takes his job too seriously—

"Can we-can we save the conversation for later?" he asked, apology in his tone. "I'm standing in the rain with nothing over my head. You might as well hand me pneumonia in a platter."

"I'm—you're what?!" she asked, perplexed and somehow surprised. She walked to the glass wall of her office and looked down to the street across their building. There, just under a tree which did nothing to shield him from the rain, and just beside the payphone with the phone on his ear, was Killian Jones soaked to the bones.

"Never mind, I have another minute on the mark," he said, ducking under the roof of the payphone post to look at the small screen. "I'm sorry. I know I promised our paths will steer clear from each other, but—

"Henry, I know," she said. The kid, upon hearing his own name, stood from the couch to approach Emma with a look of guilt on his face. "I think he wants to talk to you. Here."

She handed the kid the phone, and he gingerly put it on his ear, hitting the loudspeaker button. "Daddy, I'm so sorry. You can hit me when we get home."

Emma's eyes widened at this, afraid of what the outcome of the offer will be. Killian Jones, in her thorough observation, may look menacing and even dangerous sometimes, but he didn't sound like a father who would beat a child.

"You know _I _will never do that, lad," he said, relent in his voice, and Emma was visibly relieved. "But please, Henry, let's go home. You have to stop making me worry about you. I keep thinking to myself, if I lose you now, I don't know what I'd do to myself."

"But you _will_," Henry said, a tone of regret in his voice. They all know what he meant by that, and coming from the child, it must have hurt. "Before I do that, I want to know who my real parents are. I love you, dad. So much. But I can't let her go now—I just found her."

"Henry," she started, getting that it's hard for him to squish everything in this life into that little head of his.

"Emma," he stated, mimicking her tone. "Before I go, I want to know you. If you're the only biological parent that I will know, that's fine by me. Just, please, let me fit another piece of the puzzle."

"Kid, I-I…" her eyes averted from his knowing stare. This kid, she could imagine how painful it would be for his father to know that in the unforeseeable future, he would lose him. And she can't get attached to that, not with the joy of it because everything that's good had been ripped away from her and she can't take a chance with him.

"Mom—Emma, I _need _you."

She stared at him for a good whole half of a minute before dialing on one of her other desk phones. She pushed a button and spoke into the intercom, "Leroy, let the man in. For God's sakes, he's soaking wet."

"But, ma'am—

"Let him in. Now."

* * *

The first thing Killian Jones did when he got into her office was find his son and embrace him despite being waterlogged. He then proceeded to check him for injuries, all over his face and arms. When he rose to his feet, he turned to Emma with a sad smile on his lips.

"I'm sorry, Miss Swan," he said to her, taking Henry's hand in his. "We should get going."

They turned to leave, but was stopped when Emma called out for them.

"Wait, stop," she almost exclaimed, closing her eyes in hopes that her emotions wouldn't betray her. Both of them turned their attentions to her. Killian looked tired, but Henry looked expectant. It took her a while to come to this decision and she hoped to God she wouldn't regret it.

"I'm… free during Wednesday afternoons. And most of the weekends, except holidays."

Henry's smile might just be the brightest and kindest smile anyone has given her in her entire life.

* * *

**AN:** Oh, wow. I can't express how happy I feel when I take a look into my inbox everyday knowing that people are favorite-ing/reviewing/following this story. And I agree, this is indeed a plot that's not been ventured yet, and I have to admit, it's one of the factors that makes this interesting to write.

I hope you like this chapter, folks. Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: **Don't look at me, if I did own them I'd be rich as hell. Haha. Also, I don't ever edit my work so... yeah, you get the picture.

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE  
That's Where You'll Find Me**

_December of 1995_

Killian Jones was alone. Ever since he was a little boy, he was alone. When his mother died from giving birth to him, he was alone. When his father threw him into boarding school along with the only money they had left, he was alone. When he met his first friend, he was alone. Even when little Graham Humbert told him that he's family now, he still felt alone. When his only friend goes home during the holidays, he had no one. Even when he spent the next of those lonely holidays with the Humberts, he still wondered if his father would come back for him.

His childhood was a blur. He might make a few memories out from his head, but even those felt like he had just imagined them. The day it all stopped being a blur was nine years after, that one particularly cold day in December when he was fifteen and was old enough to decide to himself that he would surprise his father by going home.

There was no one home but his auntie, an old lady who always had her fist curled into a ball whenever Killian was around. She directed him to the church and said, "Do not make a scene."

He had run to the church with all his might, his feet heavy and tired, digging under the thick snow that covered the road to the church. He did not care. Why? Because his father never came to church, never heard mass, and was always drinking. Why was he in it now? His labored breaths mingled with the heavy atmosphere of the outside of the little church, his chest heaving with difficulty.

When his feet had reached the first few steps of the old church, he felt his heart drop a thousand miles below ground. There was a casket, and a few people. He couldn't make sense of all the words on the silk banner except this: _David H. Jones, 1948-1995_. Suddenly, his hands were colder, and suddenly, his eyes were prickly. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe.

"_One week and a half, he was dead for one week and a half…"_

"_Poor soul… he was a hardworking man…"_

"_So sad his boy was dead…"_

They seemed to forget that he, Killian Jones, David Jones' son, was whisked away into boarding school when he was six years old, left alone on his own to fend for himself, and was pronounced dead even when he was still alive. His head hurt more than it should just by thinking that this is impossible. Someone must be playing a prank on him. _This can't be._

"_You said his boy was dead, who was that outside?"_

"_He had a lot of cousins. Maybe it's one of _them._"_

* * *

_August of 2002_

After moving out of Ireland with the Humberts when he was sixteen, Killian Jones found his calling in the sea. He set his goals to becoming a Marine while his best friend set out to be a law abider. It wasn't long before he was truly out and about in the vast expanse of the ocean, serving his new found land.

It was August of 2002 when the twenty-three year old seafarer put his feet on solid ground after three years of faring in the seas. That was when he met _her_. Who is _she_?

Well, if Killian today would describe her, you would not like the answer. But Killian Jones, twenty-three years old and had just stepped foot on solid ground after three years of seafaring, would tell you that _she_ has the longest hair, flowing and black as night, _her_ skin was the fairest, and _her_ laugh—_her_ laugh was contagious. How about _her_ eyes? _Her_ eyes… well, _her_ eyes were set on him the moment he entered that bar with his mates that day they docked to shore. Those eyes held mysteries as dark as her hair, and he would be damned before he could ever uncover them.

Her voice was sultry and seductive and once she found that the young Marine was looking at her through the thick sea of people gyrating and grinding against each other, she was already making her way towards him. She, herself, had been seated at a faraway corner with two of her lady friends and a guy who didn't seem to be a hindrance to Killian if he ever decided to pursue this woman. Even her stride gave him nothing but the clue of her confidence.

"Can I buy you a drink?" came her voice, soothing and a cut above the noise of the bar.

The young Marine had strayed away from his mates because being _that _loud just isn't him. So he seated himself alone on the bar and fancied himself a drink or two. He meant to do it alone, but this company isn't exactly unwelcomed.

"What a surprise," Killian replied, his brow raising. "I was just going to ask you the same thing."

She laughed, and God, how was that even possible to have her eyes twinkling like stars when she did?

"How about that offer, mi'lady?" he asked again, winking and giving her his best smile, leaning close to hear her answer.

"_I'll take that."_

Her name was Milah, and Killian Jones thought she was his.

* * *

_January of 2003_

They got married. Killian Jones married that one girl he never thought he would ever get. And maybe, he never did _get _her, but he was hers, body and soul. For him, that was enough. They lived almost six months after their marriage, thinking it was alright. Everything did seem to work out fine. Her parents were approving of a Marine, and, well, the Humberts were with him wherever they thing he's happy.

And he _was_. For a time, they were happy. Everything seemed to be fine—until the day that it wasn't. That day, she became weary with their several attempts at having a child, they went to visit a doctor. What they heard… well, what they heard was heart-wrenching.

"You are fine, Mrs. Jones. Your gametes are healthy and well." The female doctor turned to Killian and there was nothing to expect but the worst. "But, Mr. Jones, I am sorry to tell you. Your sperms are weak and the count would not be able to hold up if you were expecting. I recommend artificial insemination, but the child will not be fully yours. I am so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Jones."

The look on his wife's face was unreadable. Her eyes, the ones that used to twinkle, they were set in a stony glare at the ground. Her lips were set in a thin line, while her hands were knotted on her lap all the way home. They did not talk, nor did he try to. He knew she was upset and it was his fault. Just like everything, it was his fault.

It was him who came up with the decision of adopting an infant. It was her who didn't seem like she wanted it.

"But, we will love him… or her, darling," he said, trying to make her believe that whoever they have as their child, whatever happens, their love for each other would not waver. "Didn't you want a child with me? A family?"

"I did, Killian!"

"You **did**?" he asked, his tone rising. There was a look of perplexity in those beautiful blue eyes of his, but nothing penetrated through her walls. Whatever it was that she was opposed to, she was content on hiding it from Killian. "What about now, Milah, love?"

"Now? Killian? I'm not sure," she admitted. "I was not even sure about marrying you!"

If it broke his heart to know that she had backed out on that plan, that she was not even definite about her decision on marrying him, he did not show it. What did he do? Like any love-driven man who had craved affection all his life, he looked past that and convinced her that adopting a baby would change her mind. She might have caved in, but he could see her hesitation.

But when she held the baby boy for the first time, Killian could see the picture that he had always wanted to see: a family—with her. This was his happiness, the peak of it, because for the next few years, things had gone downhill.

* * *

It has been a while since Emma Swan had gotten out of her office or her condominium unit to appreciate the beauty of the world. The ground was damp—thanks to the fickle weather in Boston—but the sun was shining through the spaces between the trees' leaves. The breeze was calm and warm, but also tumultuous and cold. It was ironic.

Now, if you told Emma Swan some weeks ago that she would be sitting on a park bench with her son's adoptive father while watching said son run around the playground nearby, she would have given you the loudest laugh humanly possible. But as it turned out to be, the thought was not impossible. In fact, it was happening right then and she was contemplating in her mind whether this was actually true or it's just one of those dreams where you think you're naked in class—because _this _hasn't sunk in yet.

She could feel the awkward silence between them—or maybe it was just her, because Killian looked completely watchful over his son, completely ignorant of her presence beside him. But it gave her a good view of his profile, which, in all honesty, would be deemed sinfully beautiful.

"So, uh," she started sheepishly, trying to make this _not _awkward for her. Thankfully, he turned his head just slightly towards her to let her know that he's listening, but not taking his eyes off Henry. "I… heard him mention a mother. A fake mother, to be exact."

"That," he scoffed, looking at the ground under him. "I'm not sure I should be telling you, Miss Swan." He turned his head towards her, giving her his full attention. "It was a painful memory for both of us, but it was more painful for _him_."

She nodded slowly, showing him that she understood what he meant. His impossibly blue eyes lingered on her stormy grey ones a little while longer before he gave her a defeated sigh. "I was with a woman before—when I was still in the Navy. She, uh, took care of Henry while I was gone. I guess it came as a surprise to both of us when she just up and left. The day she left was the day Henry decidedly called her his 'fake mother'."

One look in his eyes and it gave Emma another feeling, that he's still not relaying a piece of information with her. "You're hiding something," she stated.

A look of awe and surprise showed on his face before another confident smirk took place. "You, Miss Swan, are quite perceptive, aren't you?"

She just gave him a tilt of her chin and an equally confident stare. He, in return, nodded at her. "Right, you're the people-reader, aren't you?" he said, turning on his seat to face her fully. "All your life, you use that ability of yours to and against other people. You're not used to people using it against _you_, isn't that right, lass? You hate it when people hide things from you. Why is that?"

_Okay,_ she thought. He managed to irritate her with just a few words. Usually, it would take **a lot** of words and some personal jabs to shake her, but this man had done it with just reading her.

"I'm not telling if you're not telling," she replied, sending a hard-set glare towards him.

"Well," he added, raising his brows, "I don't need you to share. You're somewhat of an open book."

"Am I?" she mumbled to herself, rolling her eyes.

"You are," he nodded, giving another of his mischievous, disarming smiles. It unnerved, annoyed, and sent some other alien feeling to Emma that she wasn't sure how to react to yet.

She was about to retort with some equally smartass comment about something that she was sure would throw him off but she was cut short when the young boy ran to them, panting and laughing at something she did not catch. His face was smeared with a bit of dirt just under his chin and above his eyebrow. Something about this boy, about Henry, that warmed a little part of her heart.

"Look at you," Killian laughed, reaching into his pocket to fish out a handkerchief, wiping the dirt from Henry's face. "Had enough?"

Henry grinned widely at Killian, and then, to her surprise, to Emma. "Yep! Did you see what I built? I built a castle! Out of sand!"

"That's magnificent," Killian replied, ruffling his boy's hair. Emma sat there, not knowing what to do, until Henry gave her an expectant look, almost as if asking her say about it.

"Uhm, that's great," she said, giving Henry an unsure smile. He seemed to have detected her reluctance, but shrugged it off as he took a seat between her and Killian.

"I think I want hotdogs," Henry said to Killian.

"Okay, hotdogs, it is," the older man said, standing up and giving Henry another ruffle of the hair. Once he was gone, the boy turned to Emma excitedly. She had a feeling there's a reason the boy sent his father off to buy them hotdogs.

"So, Emma, did you and my dad get to know each other well now?"

There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes then, something so rare with kids in his situation. But the answer to his question, well, he might as well throw away his hopes. It's either it was him who was difficult, or it was her. There was no point where they got to know each other—all she knew about him was that he can read people well and all he knew about her was that she hates him for it.

"Well," she said, clearing her throat. "I know that you had a 'fake mom'."

Even she, herself, flinched once those words escaped her mouth. But when she saw how the boy's expression drastically changed, she immediately felt guilty. She was about to apologize when Henry looked up at her and gave her a sad smile.

"Did you know that when I was younger, my dad and I used to play pretend? I was Peter Pan… he was Captain Hook," he said, smiling fondly at the memory.

"With the hook and stuff?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yup, he has that," Henry said, his smile widening.

"And the eye-patch?" she asked again, this time not sure if Captain Hook has an eye-patch.

Henry gave her a knowing look, but he was still grinning. "Nope, Captain Hook does not have an eye-patch."

Emma could imagine a young boy swishing a stick around until he 'stabs' Captain Hook… the father and the son, laughing and tumbling down on the floor together. She hadn't had a memory of anyone doing that for her. "My fake mom, she would always be somewhere downtown. Dad never told me where."

The silence hung above them and she could not say a word. She did not know where his 'fake mom' had gone all those times, but she could sense in her heart that it wasn't someplace Henry should know about.

"He was given a choice, Emma," Henry said, looking at her directly. "And he chose _me._"

* * *

**AN: **Okaaaay, hey guys! Yep, thank you for all the reviews. You make me giddy and happy and just the most fidgety little kid. And also for the follows and the favorites. You guys are the best!

So, the famous "choice dialogue" has been a little bit altered, but it will come into play as we move on with the story. It's all up to you to dissect, for now, the choice Killian was given and why he chose Henry. (Am I cruel yet?)

So, once you're done reading, let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**_DISCLAIMER:_ **Haha, sadly, no. But I wish I did. Also, Regina, because she just needs a hug.

* * *

**Chapter Four  
A Still Framed Photograph  
**

_January of 2003_

Emma Swan had been with this boy for three months now. Young Emma was still a senior in high school, but this boy, he's in junior college. She thought she and this boy could conquer the world, bring peace or some shit. He brought her to dreams she never thought she'd ever dream. Emma thought he was the _one_.

Her grandmother, Regina, would always tell her not to date a peasant boy, that dating some lower class pauper would bring them and their family's name nothing but disgrace. Regina had pointed out more than once that the only thing the boy wanted from her was her riches. Emma had disagreed with that multiple times, but what good is arguing with Regina anyway, right? She is always right.

But Emma was hard headed. Her grandmother would always ask no one in particular where she had gotten her rough attitude. She would answer quietly that maybe from her _real _parents. Because Emma Swan knew that John and Delilah Swan are not her real parents, and Regina Mills was not her grandmother.

She and the boy would sneak around the house into Emma's room doing God-knows-what, and would luckily get away with it. Some nights, he would take her out to dinner with her excuse of going out to do a project or an assignment or some shit she wouldn't even want to do—giving her grandmother the image that she's the role model that she should be.

Emma Swan thought she had it all with the boy by her side. Who wouldn't fall for someone who had promised her the world? Emma Swan believed the boy who promised her that he would never leave. Emma Swan believed Neal Cassidy.

And boy, she had never been more disappointed her whole life.

* * *

It was three months in when she found out. No one could ever tell you how terrified and horrified she was when she discovered that there's a tiny human being growing inside her belly. She had tried to sleep it off, but when she awoke, the pregnancy test laid on top of the nightstand as if it were mocking her.

_This is real._

She had never been more scared her whole life. Why? Aside from her grandmother that never approved of her relationship with Neal Cassidy, it was because Neal was going to Canada to work—to follow his dreams. A day after she found out, she was already frantically dialing Neal's phone number. How did she know that it was his? Easy, she never slept with anyone but Neal.

The moment he picked up, she was already crying.

"H-hello, Emma?"

"N-Neal… uh, hello…"

She choked back a sob, not wanting to scare him off so early. She had to trust in him that he would stay because he had already promised her the world, this would be nothing to him. And indeed, nothing it was.

"Em, what is it?" he asked, annoyance in his voice. "It's too early in the fucking morning."

It was his swearing that brought her to tears again, this time sobbing out loud into the phone. But instead of trying to know what's wrong, Neal yelled at her.

"What the hell, Emma?!" he exclaimed. "What is your fucking problem?"

"Neal!" she almost yelled, but remembered that it was just almost six in the morning and she wouldn't want to wake anyone else that did not need to know of her predicament. "I-I have something to tell you."

"Well get on with it!" he barked harshly, making her recoil. "I have work later, you know."

"Neal, I…" she didn't know what to say, or how to feel, or how _he _would feel about it but she had to let him know.

"Emma… hurry up," he prodded, irritated and worn out.

"I'm pregnant, Neal," she coughed out, choking another miserable sob from her already painful chest.

There was silence on the other line, a silence that sent Emma's brain into overdrive. Her thoughts were wildly scattered and unruly and she didn't know what to do if Neal backs out on this, if he leaves her out to dry.

"Stop fucking with me, Emma," he retorted—and God, she snapped because, what the hell right? Who would wake up that early in the morning from an almost sleepless night just to mess with him, tell him that she's pregnant just for the hell of it? Who, in their right mind, would cry their eyes out the night before because they are miserably and hopelessly lost just to pull a prank on someone?

"I am not _fucking _with you, Neal!" she exploded, her eyes stinging with fresh tears are she tried to keep her voice level in moderate. "Do you think I'm messing with you?! I am not that shallow, Neal. You… you…" she had lost the words to the mess that is her anger and her turmoil because none of this had helped. Telling Neal did not help at all, not at all like she had imagined.

"I… Emma, I can't…"

"_You can't?_" she hissed, narrowing her eyes, disbelief in her tone. Her voice came out stronger than she had expected, and it was just enough of encouragement for her.

"I have other… plans… there's… I'm incapable, Emma," he replied, fidgeting in nervousness. "You understand, right?"

"I understand?" she chuckled humorlessly. "Do I, Neal? Because all I understand is that I'm talking to a coward who couldn't take a responsibility just because it's not going _his _way. And I'm the one who's supposed to understand?"

There was another grand pause, a pause full of anger and guilt. She wanted to still yell, to still rub it in his face that he was irresponsible and full of himself, but the words were caught in her throat, pushed down by her silent and trembling cries.

"You know what, fuck you—

She hung up. And after she did, she rushed to her grandmother's room to tell her about it.

* * *

Emma Swan was thinking too much. Even in her thoughts, she was thinking. Maybe it was born out of the current circumstances, but she needed a breath out of it all. The bad thing about this is that she can't _get out _of it. She's trapped in between the wish of a dying little child, her work, and her always knowing grandmother. _Oh, she doesn't know yet, _she thinks, but she has a strong gut feeling that she will soon hear of it from someone. Someone will always be watching her…

There was no knock and she did not hear the door open, but when she looked up, she found Ruby staring at her with concern on her face. It was rude, but then again, she might have just been too lost in her thoughts that she hadn't heard her enter.

"Did you, uh, need something?" she asked sheepishly, lifting her head from her arms.

"No," Ruby replied, chewing her bottom lip in uncertainty. "But, I know you _do_."

Emma swallowed when she heard her reply. She knew someone would know about it… who else knows? Her heart raced at the thought. She might have perceived about her grandmother knowing about it, but she was not ready for it yet.

Emma's silence was what urged Ruby on. The secretary could feel the nerves on Emma firing and the walls coming back up, and being the good (and only) friend that she has, Ruby had to slam those back down.

"The adorable little boy… and the gorgeous wet man the other day?" she said, her eyes questioning her. "I'm sensing a situation here, Em."

She answered her friend with another silence.

"You don't want to talk?" Ruby challenged, sending Emma's eyes locking on hers. She might be terrified, but she did not show it to her boss. "Fine, not a worry. I asked the boy about it, you know."

"And you believe him?" she asked, feigning oblivion, and acting as if she was surprised. "W-whatever he told you?"

Ruby's chin tilted up knowingly, almost catching Emma's uncertainty about the matter. "You're a terrible liar, you know that. And of course, I believed him; he told me everything. What are you going to tell Madame Mills?"

"Nothing," Emma said with the determination of a mountain climber. "She will know nothing of this."

"We both know that's going to be hard," Ruby said, walking to the couch and sitting on its arm. "And the handsome and _very wet_ man that followed? What's his role?"

Emma found the hidden suggestive tone in her voice a little bit annoying, but she answered nevertheless. "He's the adoptive father."

Ruby took her time processing everything before Emma almost literally saw a light bulb go off in her brain. She tilted her head in thought and said, "Why now? After… what, ten years?"

"He's dying…"

"Who? The man—

"No, the kid." Emma took a deep breath to calm herself. "The kid is dying. _He _came to me one night, said he wanted to see me… I didn't know…" she trailed off, lost in the thought of having attachments to a kid she didn't want to get involved with in the first place. She thought about Killian Jones and the pain and the guilt he must have as a parent of a sick child—and how she will never even want to know that pain and guilt.

She could escape, tell them she's done with them. She would supply his treatments and rid Killian of the financial burdens just as long as they don't come back into her life anymore. Yes, that would be the easy way out.

_But he wanted to see you, Emma. Not your money. _

"Emma," came Ruby's voice, snapping her out of her thoughts. "You have to make a decision. Fast. If the adorable young kid is really dying, then you have to tell him fast because he doesn't have that much time for you to spend in your indecisiveness."

Ruby is right—as always. The only problem is that she didn't know how to decide.

* * *

"_If I were you, I'd give up!"_

"_If you were me… I'd be ugly!"_

The line never gets old for Henry, Killian thought as he sat beside the boy in his pajamas, whilst watching Peter Pan for the… nth time before going to bed. He watched as the kid smiled and laughed all while the little war scene was playing.

Henry surprised him when he spoke, even when his eyes were trained on the television set. "What if Emma kept me?" his tone was quiet and sincere, bearing every bit of innocence in his heart. "Would she have loved me?"

"Of course," he said, as equally quiet as his son. "Absolutely. Everybody loves you."

The kid was silent for a few seconds, lost in what he was watching. Killian thought he had let the conversation fade, but he was incorrect.

This time, he turned his head towards him, a serious look on his face. "But _she _never did, did she? I loved _her_."

Killian's eyes softened as he gazed into Henry's. There's that unspoken-before truth in his voice and he might just be the braver of them because Killian never brought up the topic before with anyone—not even with his best friend.

"I thought… I loved her, too," he admitted, tucking Henry under his arm. He felt the kid sigh in his embrace. He smiled. "But you know, things changed."

"Things can still change," Henry spoke knowingly. "Remember?"

"Henry…" the father said, soft warning in his tone. Being this hopeful can hurt him more than he could ever perceive.

"Dad," he said, mocking his tone. He wiggled out of his embrace and turned on his seat, now facing his father with a grin on his face. "You have to promise me, please. When you find love with someone, you don't let go of it."

Killian blinked at him a couple of times before smiling and ruffling his hair. "Stop being so smart, alright?"

Henry huffed in playful annoyance, turning again to finish what they were watching. Killian could not think of a way to tell this little boy that if love ever did find him again, he would be too afraid that he's damaged beyond repair to even accept it. It will only be one of two things: either he runs, or love does. No happy ending for him.

He glanced at Henry, finding that he was mouthing the words of the movie as Peter Pan says it.

"_I do believe in fairies… I do, I do."_

He finds that moments later, as the credits rolled, Henry was already sleeping. He carried the boy in his steady arms, walking slowly to his bedroom so as not to disturb his deep slumber. He always slept peacefully after watching Peter Pan, Killian noted.

He laid the boy on his bed, tucked him under his covers, and turned the night light off. "Good night, Henry."

He let another moment of silence wash over him as he glanced longingly at this precious little one. All his life, he had wanted a family. Even just a small one, he was alright with it as long as he has someone he can rely onto. Now… the only family he has will be pulled away from him by a merciless disease and he can't do anything about it.

He tries so hard every day not to think of it, not in any way. But it creeps in just ever so menacingly into his thoughts, at the back of his head, ready to pounce on an idle moment to fill him with guilt.

He shook his head and stood up to leave, but a small and soft hand held onto his with almost fragile strength. Killian turned his head to look at Henry, his hooded brown eyes trained on his piercing blue ones. He doubts he's even half-conscious at this point, but he managed to speak.

"Dad…" he whispered quietly, sleep lacing his voice. "Promise me?"

His brows rose ever so slightly, realizing that he was talking about their conversation earlier. He said the first thing that came into his mind no matter how cloudy his decision had become.

"I promise."

* * *

**AN:** Hey~ what's up? Haha, anyways, thank you for the tremendous amount of reviews and follows and favorites. You guys are the best. Also, I apologize for the lack of CS interaction in this chapter, and probably the next one. But hey, Daddy!Killian for all. Because.

Also, next chapter, we get to meet grandma!Regina who has a little bit of a soft side. But she's still the Evil Queen we know and love (sometimes hate).

Let me know what you think!


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